in your memories
by Plum'oh
Summary: This is just another story, and yet it is not. / BakuTodo week day 4: au, gang!au.


**Rating:** T

 **Summary:** This is just another story, and yet it is not.

 **Disclaimer:** The characters belong to Horikoshi Kouhei.

Hello!

This is probably going to be my only contribution to bktd week haha I love gang!AU and writing these two in this universe was a pleasure. Gang!Todoroki and bartender!Bakugou.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **Day 4 – AU:** in your memories

The bar is never noisy. This is a peculiarity that Shouto has never found an answer to, but he won't complain; he appreciates much more quiet places than places that make his ears buzz and his head spin. The windows are always clean, giving a perfect view of what's inside, and Shouto can easily distinguish what kind of atmosphere is floating just from looking. He adjusts the tie around his neck, tugs on his black gloves, and pushes the door open. The tingling of the small bell announces his presence, and immediately the bartender shoots him the most deadpan expression he's ever worn since their first meeting.

(Their first meeting goes way back, five or six years before.)

"Look who's late," he says.

"Look who didn't give me a precise time," Shouto replies easily, striding towards the counter.

The tables are almost all occupied, ranging from families taking a short break, to couples stealing time to themselves, to people who came alone to seek some peace. The bar is situated in a back street that is more frequented by stray cats than by normal people. Shouto thinks it's better that way, considering the temper of the owner and the services that are provided in the establishment, not necessarily of poor quality, but presenting a rather dangerous edge that normal people wouldn't want to come across.

He takes a seat by the counter (the only seat available, right in the middle, in front of the bartender), and casually folds his hands on it. He doesn't say anything, just stares at red eyes that are gauging him, as if it will magically dissipate the tension between them. Shouto has rarely seen such a vivid and beautiful color; many people compliment his blue eye, and go as far as saying that his scar makes it even more alluring, which of course Shouto doesn't take too kindly.

"Around nine pm means around nine pm, it's fucking ten," the bartender growls.

"Well, I did have some business to attend to before coming here, you're not the only busy one," Shouto almost drawls.

Katsuki snorts and gives him the finger, totally unnecessary and uncalled for, but Shouto doesn't care. The man sitting next to him glances curiously at them, but he quickly gazes back down at his beverage when Shouto looks back at him. People possess indecent curiosity.

Katsuki puts a glass of whiskey on the counter. Shouto didn't order anything—this sort of became his default drink, since whenever he comes, Katsuki serves him the same. He nods at him, and takes his first sip. The icicles clink against the glass, a satisfying sound that never fails to make Shouto smile, strangely enough.

"And it never crossed your mind you could, I don't know, send a fucking text?"

Shouto puts down the glass, and his smile is still stretching his lips, amused, serene.

"I didn't peg you for the worrying one."

"Fuck off, Shouto."

Shouto simply hums, observing with delight Katsuki's growing red face. It has always been easy to rile him up, a small comment could set him off like an explosive and nobody could do anything about it. To be honest, Katsuki was the first one to initiate the snipping, and over the years, Shouto's indifference grew into a playful interest.

Look at where it landed him.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, sobering up.

Katsuki regains composure. His whole body squares up, his eyes focus on Shouto's face and his hands casually slide into his pants' pockets (Shouto wants to tell him he should appear more professional, but he knows it'd fall on deaf ears).

"There was a rise."

Someone is calling for Katsuki in the room, so he goes to attend to them. Shouto gazes into the amber of his whiskey, diluted by the icicles, and takes another sip.

* * *

They exit the bar way past midnight, after the last customer leaves with a generous tip. Katsuki turns the key into the lock, lowers the shutter, and they set off. They walk silently, side by side, shoulders brushing but never making the contact last, eerily quiet in the streets that hold secrets they don't want to disturb. Shouto dislikes wearing his suit, but it's a look that blends into the crowd; somehow it's enough to put past questions about his ugly scar.

When they round a corner, Katsuki comes to an abrupt stop and slams into Shouto. Were it anyone else Shouto would have cut their fingers without a second of hesitation, but Katsuki's weight is a familiar one, pressed against his chest, arms snaking around his waist and lips hungry for sensations Shouto is more than happy to provide. Ironically, for all the times they threw poisoned remarks at each other, they don't need words in the heat of this moment. Shouto probably wouldn't recognize it, but the both of them are way more similar than they think they are, and it took four years for him to realize that the thick aura enveloping Katsuki is made of a loneliness that Shouto can assimilate all too well. They resonate, maybe unwillingly, but this drew them together in the first place, despite their obvious outward differences shaping their life.

Shouto grabs Katsuki's shoulders, steadying himself and leaning forward, applying more pressure on his lips, while Katsuki makes a vague noise of protest, maybe because he still doesn't like feeling he's being interrupted in something, even though it shouldn't be the case in that situation. For a moment it's only the sound of their lips moving and taking what they find, hands traveling up and down any parts of their bodies like they are searching for a treasure, not delicate but not rough either, rustling of clothes betraying the impatience that escalates with every passing minute. Heat is growing inside his stomach and shivers run down his spine, and Shouto has to remember that, empty street or not, he's not going to let himself get carried away.

Apparently Katsuki has the same thought despite his initial fervor, as he pulls back, resting his forehead on Shouto's shoulder, heavy panting from them both replacing all previous sounds.

"It's getting dangerous," Katsuki whispers.

"It was dangerous right from the beginning," Shouto answers on the same tone.

Katsuki doesn't say anything else. Instead, he takes Shouto's hand, and leads the way.

* * *

Shouto can't stay in the morning. He gets up, picks up his clothes piece by piece, careful in his movements and not to be noisy, and he leaves the apartment. Activities are often perpetuated at night, but he believes that sending an early warning can't hurt anyone in the vicinity.

(He trusts Katsuki, so he didn't bother hiding his weapons in a special hideout; he just needed to grab them from the kitchen counter, where he left them last night.)

The city is already bustling with life. People are following their routine, and so is Shouto. He steps into the district, knowing full well where he's headed, even without the many men shooting him glares and provocations. They're of no importance, and they probably don't know who they are up against, either.

Shouto marches straight into a courtyard, pulls out his gun, and fires a single bullet.

The entirety of the courtyard and the people eavesdropping from the building's windows jump on their feet, but Shouto remains calm, holding up a hand, the other one gripping his gun lowered.

"I'm not here to fight. Stay away from my territory, and consider this our farewell."

Of course, in Shouto's ideal world, people would take a hint and do as they're asked, but since this isn't the world he lives in, a henchman lunges at him, classical boy acting on instincts regardless of his boss not having said a word yet. Shouto easily gets a hold of the boy's arm, twists it and holds it behind his back, and blocks his footing with his leg.

"I said that this is farewell."

He locks eyes with the boss; he's a man a bit older than Shouto, more experienced with many years of mutual altercations, and though he radiates with irritation and a desire to smash Shouto's face into pieces, he knows he shouldn't talk back.

This is enough for Shouto. He releases the boy, ignores the insults hurtled at him, and walks away, just like how he walked in.

"We haven't made a move in weeks. Did you send a spy in our ranks?"

He doesn't need a spy when he has the biggest mine of information as a resident pain in the heart.

* * *

If his gun feels too impersonal, he uses his knife; blood trickling down the blade, splattering on the ground and on his clothes, smearing his face with more red than he already has, provides an incredible sensation of having accomplished something. Shouto has killed, killed and killed as far back as he can remember, blade in hand or orders at his lips, and he surrounds himself with that veil of hardened numbness to fight off what happens around him. Dead bodies don't have any reasons to affect him anymore. His subordinates often tell him that the newcomers are always afraid of him because of his scary presence, much like a king's to whom bowing is instinctive. It doesn't matter, he isn't the leader of the most powerful gang to be friends with its members.

(Is befriending someone outside of the gang any better?)

He can escape guilt whenever the current situation springs on him.

"I literally came yesterday in your territory to warn you. How come you are here today?"

"You only caught me today, I've been here for weeks," the intruder spits.

"Interesting. Tell me more about your reasons for spying on us. Wait," Shouto holds up a hand, nods to one of his henchman. The latter pulls out a knife and puts it near the man's neck. "I think you are smart enough to guess what is going to happen to you."

For the first time in a long time, Shouto sees someone at death's gates smiling at his fate.

"Gonna die either way."

He breaks free of the hold the people had on him, and without even sparing a glance at anyone he cuts his own throat. His body falls on the floor in the most deafening silence. Blood is pooling beneath him, bright and familiar.

Shouto sighs.

"A courageous man. Dispose of the body, I have someone to interrogate."

It is weird that nobody, even himself, didn't notice the intruder, if what he says is true. Shouto appointed a trusted man to make sure that everyone in the base is a familiar face, and that every newcomer is accompanied by a veteran. How did this pass under his radar?

He easily finds him; they have specific tasks every day, and it would have been even more suspicious if he wasn't in his usual place. Denki turns around in his chair, removing his headphone, and Shouto looks at the multiple screens displaying different parts of the base. Nothing seems wrong.

"What's up, boss?"

He wears his usual smile, an expression that doesn't match the job he's doing. But not everyone has to look like it's their last day on earth to be part of this underground world, and Shouto would be lying if he said that he'd prefer seeing Denki acting like a cold-blooded schemer.

"Didn't you notice someone infiltrated our base?" he quietly asks, gazing directly into Denki's eyes.

Denki has the unfortunate tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He is too good to be involved in shady affairs, which is why Shouto assigned him to internal work.

But even in internal work, he managed to be influenced. Shouto tries not to be disappointed when Denki's gaze drops to his knees. Would it have been less suspicious if he laughed it off?

"No, I didn't notice..." Denki trails off, gesturing to the screens.

"Denki, we don't know what kind of information he delivered to our rival group. It can trigger our downfall."

"I know..."

Shouto doesn't quite tower over Denki, but the way Denki shrinks on himself, almost like he's just a small kid caught stealing a cookie, gives the advantage to Shouto. Denki probably knows that his boss won't like his answer.

"You're not fired, and I'm not going to get angry," Shouto says, on the same tone, not pushing too much.

"Uh, I think you're going to get angry," Denki retorts, which makes Shouto raise an eyebrow. "I hid stuff and it's not pretty."

"Just tell me everything."

And finally, Denki lifts his gaze, not steel hard, but not mellow either, as if he was feeling sorry not for himself but for Shouto.

"I got a bargain. Let a spy in the base, and they'd give me money and weapons. They also threatened my best friend, but. Well. Sorry, boss."

"Who came to you?" Shouto can't remember anyone willingly walking into their territory to speak to the head of his men. Denki's look of pure desolation strikes him head-on.

"Have you heard of Explosive Drink's?"

* * *

Shouto waits until it's dark. Waits at the door past midnight, watching the last customer leave the building, and he steps inside. The tables are clean, the chairs turned over, and the glasses put away. Water is running. Shouto feels it safe to assume it was a busy day.

He walks towards the counter, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he gets around it, slowly, and stands a few steps away from him. Katsuki raises his head, hands still scrubbing at the last plate.

"What?" he says, as agreeable as ever.

"Do all your customers have some kind of importance?" Shouto asks, unperturbed.

"If by importance you mean they get high on exchanging smokes, drugs, sharp toys and all that stuff, then yeah."

Katsuki closes the tap, dries the plate with a rug, and puts it in the cupboard. He flings the cloth over his shoulder, then narrows his eyes at Shouto.

"What's up with you?"

Shouto is always wearing his suit when he goes out; white shirt, black jacket, black pants, black tie, black gloves, just the typical clothes. Katsuki has seen him countless times dressing and undressing, he knows where he keeps his belongings, he knows which pocket holds what.

Shouto slides his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and just as fast, Katsuki makes a move to slap his hands away but Shouto is quicker. He turns to the side to protect himself and he slams Katsuki into the counter, one hand gripping Katsuki's collar and the other pointing the gun to his head, and if Katsuki's eyes weren't constantly fire ablaze, they'd be burning right now.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he yells, fists clenched at his sides.

"How long have you been playing for both sides?" Shouto's voice is tight.

The question only channels further fury into Katsuki.

"'Both sides'? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not on anyone's side, fucker."

"I don't believe you."

"Well don't fucking believe me, be naive in your sorry corner of a territory."

Katsuki attempts to move but Shouto presses the gun harder on his temple. He doesn't feel it through his gloves.

"Katsuki. Answer me."

"You're delusional, Shouto."

Katsuki's hands are uncharacteristically slow whenever he touches Shouto's body, and no matter how many times Shouto told him he wasn't made of glass, Katsuki never stopped. This time isn't any different; fingers are running around his waist, reach the small satchel on his belt, and retrieve a pocket-knife. Shouto lets him. The tip of the pocket-knife faces his chest. Katsuki doesn't look enraged anymore though some traces remain on his features, but his eyes are still red defiance.

"I never made an allegiance or whatever to you," he explains, barely any emotions coloring his words.

Barely doesn't mean none. Surprise isn't one of them; it's more of resignation, Shouto doesn't dare think it's regret.

"I don't want to kill you," Shouto whispers.

"What, you're going to let me kill you instead? Don't be an idiot," Katsuki snorts. "I can stab you to death."

"I'd fire the second you plunge that knife into me."

"You said you don't want to."

"It doesn't mean I won't."

"Stop fucking playing with words, bastard."

"Who is the one playing here?"

Katsuki scowls. With the hand not holding the knife, he pushes the gun away, slowly, always slow with his hands, not breaking eye contact with Shouto. So much can happen in these seconds, so much can turn wrong or right. The choice is theirs.

"What do you want?" The words are much more alive, crimson determination.

"I don't know."

So typical, pathetically cliché. Shouto thought he could avoid this sort of dilemma. He's a fool for covering his eyes with the feeling of yearning and comfort.

He takes a step back, Katsuki straightens, their hands still linked by the gun, one atop the other. The pocket-knife is dropped on the floor. Katsuki grabs Shouto's shoulder, squeezes, pouring his entire heart in that single powerful gesture.

"I never made an allegiance," he repeats, firm. "I gave information to you. I gave information to everyone. That's my fucking job, I don't care whose money it is. I'm not gonna be picky and get my ass killed."

"I guess that makes sense," Shouto replies softly.

"Put the damn thing away before you shoot yourself in the foot like the dumbass you are. I'm not armed."

"You are a close-combat fighter, Katsuki."

Katsuki shrugs. Shouto shakes his head, and does as he's told. The gloves are thick, neither the cold of the metal nor the warmth of Katsuki's hand is palpable, but he knows they are here, mingling in his own warmth. Gloves won't protect himself from what's bursting inside.

He picks up the knife and puts it away, too. All the while Katsuki remains silent, following every movement of Shouto. All their cards have been revealed, left open and unattended—what should they do, now?

(Some part of Shouto cracks, another welcomes the relief.)

"You led a spy into my ranks," he says.

"Yeah. Good deal for me and that Kaminari guy."

"How many were your doing?"

"For the past five years? Dunno. I don't count."

The nonchalance is almost vexing, cutting deep into Shouto's skin, but he should have been expecting it; Katsuki isn't like Denki, he doesn't rely on his emotions to think and act. It doesn't ease the pain.

"I don't know what I should do," Shouto admits with a barely audible sigh.

"You expect me to give an answer? Fat chance," Katsuki chuckles, but there is no mirth.

He's once again slid his hands into his pockets. Shouto doesn't mind, this time. He wouldn't know what to do with his hands either were he Katsuki.

"Trust was never the matter, I suppose," Shouto continues. "I trusted you. Still do, I think. It just puts everything into new perspectives."

"Look, nobody is chaining you here, if you wanna go and disappear then be my guest. I'm not gonna beg you or some shit."

In a movie, Katsuki would have taken out a cigarette and smoked, dragging a long grey trail, emphasizing how many fucks he gave to the situation. Can't be helped, Shouto guesses, that the one selfish decision he makes stabs him in the back. His head is a mess of what-ifs and shoulds, of memories and subsequent regrets, and honestly he just wants to wake up to the reality he's been living in until today. It's a fucking joke.

"I was serious when I said I didn't want to kill you. You... I... I became attached."

Shouto doesn't meet Katsuki's gaze.

"Pretty stupid of me, I'd say. Becoming attached to someone with my kind of job? It was a direct way to send me to my downfall."

"Shouto, listen the fuck to me."

Katsuki's voice is dripping with so much harshness, a command from the mouth of someone manipulating words and meanings, that Shouto is irrevocably drawn to him.

"Do whatever the fuck you want. I know I'm not the best person to be around. We were fucking, not dating."

Five or six years, Shouto can't remember, but that many years can't result in nothing. He narrows his eyes. "I wouldn't call our relationship just fuck buddies."

"I do, so stop overthinking that shit."

Katsuki drops his shoulders, scowl stretching his features, and he walks past Shouto. He bumps into his arm, and suddenly Shouto jolts awake, flashes of all the sensations he's felt ever since he met him, brewing like a storm waiting to clap. He whirls around.

"Katsuki, I still believe in you," he declares, hating how his voice threatens to crack. "I'm being stupid right now. I know you're not as emotionless as you try to be."

Katsuki stops in his tracks, though his back still faces Shouto. He's listening.

"I don't want to lose you."

The hardest words he's afraid of saying and hearing, tumble out of his mouth, from desperation maybe, from sheer confusion, and here he is, clenching his fists and wishing, hoping, searching.

Katsuki finally turns his head, just like how he would on the busy days, when Shouto approaches the counter and would stare at the back of his head until he notices.

"See ya later, Shouto."

One final smile, and he's gone.

Shouto closes his eyes, and looks into the future.

* * *

Inspired by the beautiful fanart on twitter dot com / Vickiemioo / status / 904082216262574080

Thanks for reading!


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